


Bunker Mornings

by saltyravenclaw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Men of Letters Bunker, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Fluff in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Gen, I couldn't figure out how to place him in the story, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Mornings, My First AO3 Post, but i still love that smol bean i promise, short and fluffy, sorry for not adding Jack Kline, technically the roof but anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24689062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyravenclaw/pseuds/saltyravenclaw
Summary: Mornings in the Bunker are generally the same.But some days should be devoted to cherishing them.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	Bunker Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short thing i wrote. I'm still practicing writing in general, and I guess short ficlets are a good way to practice?  
> If you read and enjoy this, please leave a kudos or a comment. I'd appreciate it immensely!  
> If you've got constructive criticism, that's welcome as well!  
> \--Adrian

Beautiful days are hard to come by. Difficult to appreciate, especially in a hunter’s life. Sometimes the boys forget this, buried deep in lore and cases. 

But when there isn’t someone to save or something to defeat, they will cherish those days. When it’s quiet and calm. When the sky is a solid cerulean blue, speckled with pale wisps of fluffy cloud floating lazily in the troposphere. When the air smells clean and dry, and the sun is softly pale and warm. When the morning wakes up slow and yawning as if she was dragging her feet, wanting to stretch out the pleasurable warmth before it inevitably rained again. The days when it’s incredibly soundless and sleepy. 

The Bunker doesn’t have windows. But even so, invisible sun rays manage to illuminate the shadowy, sinister Bunker, bringing in the brightness of the outdoors. 

The first person to wake on these mornings is the younger Winchester. He rises early and quietly, heading outside to enjoy the coolness and fog before the sun burns it away. It’s a staple of his day, one of the only consistencies he ever has, being out in the fresh, dewy dawn. 

The second is the angel, who brews a pot of coffee (even though he doesn’t drink it, it’s for the boys) and wanders to the roof to embrace the light, warm breeze. He tips his head back and lets the sunlight warm his skin, eyes closed, and face illuminated. Deep down, he yearns for his wings, to soar through those soft clouds. He longs for flight; it’s a heavy weight in his chest because it brings an elated freedom gravity steals from him. 

Sometimes his lover joins him, shuffling onto the roof, still in his pajamas and his eyes half-closed, holding mugs of coffee.  
One of the cups always has a bee pattern.  
He wraps his arms around his angel and breathes in the smell of ozone and rain clouds, something that has never faded away. The angel leans his head against the hunter’s shoulder and his longing melts away, replaced with warm contentment. 

They stand here, together, savoring this tranquility, wishing it could last forever.  
These days don’t, though. Eventually, there’s a case and they sink into research and books again. A restless spirit. A ghoul. Something. And they return to their lives as usual, back to the grinding rhythm that is this hunter’s life, calm mornings left behind. 

They’re not forgotten, though. They’re remembered. A glimpse of good, a reason why these boys do their jobs. For those calm days, when their lives are normal, something to fight and look forwards to. Because those mornings are treasured.


End file.
